The Boardwalk
by Vivere Sine Timore
Summary: Natara goes for an early morning swim to try to clear her thoughts. it doesn't really work. Rated T for dark themes, mentions of self harm, and depression


Standing alone on the end of the boardwalk, she shivers gently against the cool air that brushes her cheek. She knows this is a stupid idea, and she regrets letting Amy talk her into this. Still, Amy had claimed it worked for her, and she was so desperate that she was willing to give it a try.

With a backward glance to confirm that she was alone, she quickly undid the buttons of her jacket and let it slip from her shoulders and crumple into a pile on the wooden boards. Underneath was a modest bathing suit; she'd never had any time to shop for a "proper" bathing suit, nor the interest or patience.

With another small shiver, she clambers up the side of the railing put there to stop exactly what she was about to do. She slowly straightens until she is standing straight on the top board and stares down into the water. It seems to be almost black, and the waves break angrily against the boardwalk supports. For a moment she considers jumping back onto the safety of the boardwalk and quietly going home with no one the wiser. Then, she curls her toes over the side of the railing and, thanking God that she'd decided to take all those swimming lessons as a child, throws herself into the water below.

It isn't a long drop, but the seawater bites into her skin as she impacts the surface and submerges. She had steeled herself for the freezing temperature, but she hadn't been prepared for it to be this cold. It steals her her breath for a second and she can't move. After a moment her instincts kick in, and she surfaces, taking in a huge breath as she treads water. The temperature outside the water seems to have dropped at least 30 degrees and, with another huge breath, she dives beneath the waves again. The cool blue water seems to help clear her thoughts, and she swims underwater in intervals for as long as she can.

It's over, she realizes.

Whatever she and Mal had... It's all over.

Between his drinking and losing Jason, their relationship is ruined forever. She tries to cover the bruises and the marks, but sometimes she gets careless and people see. Maybe, on a subconscious level, she wants them to see. She wants them to see how she punishes herself. Because she deserves it. She knows she does.

She cut her own wrists once, using some utility blades she found in their garage. Mal told her later that he found her in a frightening pool of her own blood, laying on the kitchen floor. The stains were still there. Barely visible, but still there.

She supposed she had to come to terms with it eventually. She knew the approximate amount of time it took for a human mind to heal from a traumatic experience. But that was so hard to remember when she looked at the pictures of her Jason.

Mal never forgave her for it.

She doesn't think he ever will.

'Oh, as if he's any better!' her mind drawls. And she finds herself agreeing with it. Mal took to drinking, losing himself in it. There were nights when he would come home at two in the morning, or wouldn't come home at all. And then there were the times when he would come back smelling like someone else's perfume, with someone else's lipstick on his collar and someone else's underwear in his pocket. He knew she knew, and she knew he knew she knew. They never breathed a word about it to each other.

He was fired from the SFPD. She was dismissed from the FBI.

"You killed him!" he screamed at her that night, drunk as usual. "You killed my son!" And she couldn't argue against him, because she knew she had. She deserved it. She broke three of her fingers by slamming them with the oven door after he went to bed.

She knows now, that she's not his. She was once, but not anymore. And never again. Not since the accident.

That was what changed everything. They were perfectly happy before. After was when things went wrong and changed. After was when they changed. After was when there were only two of them instead of three.

Surfacing once more, she sighs deeply and feels warm tears running down her face. She swims to shore, berating herself for leaving her coat on the boardwalk. Quickening her pace to get it back quickly, she thanks Amy for making her do this. While it wasn't entirely helpful, she knew what she had to do now.

She just hoped she had the courage to do it.

At least she knew where Mal kept his spare gun.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for such a depressing story. Like I mentioned in one of my other stories, I'm having problems with someone I thought was my friend, and I just needed to get this out of my system.<em>

_People annoy me._


End file.
